


This Means War

by Metro_Gnome



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, M/M, Prank Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metro_Gnome/pseuds/Metro_Gnome
Summary: Maverick and Iceman's rivalry didn't end when they became instructors.From sticky notes to love confessions, what started as a simple prank war goes directions neither expected.
Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	This Means War

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Property of Maverick Mitchell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780729) by [neoncore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoncore/pseuds/neoncore). 



> This is my first toss into the fanfiction ring, so constructive criticism greatly welcomed and appreciated!
> 
> I finally figured out how to tab diolague and now feel very cool because I can do one (1) thing in HTML

It started innocently enough. 

Ice became aware that something was up when he turned away from the class he was teaching and an eruption of snickers spread out behind him. He turned back and fixed them with a glare. One student in the front row, Twilight, was barely controlling her laughter.  
“What’s so funny, lieutenant?”  
Twilight desperately attempted to school her expression into something resembling seriousness.  
“It’s on your back, sir.”  
“What's on my back?”  
That sent the class into another fit of giggles. Twilight was turning pink under the strain of not laughing. Wordlessly, Ice reached behind his back, retrieving a small yellow sticky note. In messy scrawl was written, “kick me”. Ice looked up to a room of grinning faces quickly forming themselves into sobriety.  
“Did one of you do this?”  
The class shook it’s head.  
“You’re lucky I trust you,” he said, mostly to himself.  
The class laughed. Ice continued his lecture. Though he did trust the class, it was the fact that he was already sure who the culprit was that kept him from pressing. 

✰✰✰

“Maverick.”  
Maverick’s head snapped up.  
“Iceman!” He replied cheerily, propping his feet on his desk, “what brings you here?”  
“Care to explain this?” Iceman said, slamming the offending sticky note on Maverick’s desk with more malice than he felt.  
Maverick leaned forward to examine it, as though he didn’t know damn well what it read.  
“Huh,” he said with feigned confusion, “maybe one of your students?”  
“Don’t play games with me, Mitchell.”  
“Oh, but you’re so sexy when you’re mad,” Maverick responded cheekily, grinning back at Ice.  
Ice exhaled strongly through his nose, trying to think of something to say. Part of him was telling him to just drop it and move on. Part of him wanted to see Maverick’s face when he was greeted with a plastic-wrapped office. He smiled coldly, already plotting his revenge.  
_This means war_ Iceman thought.

✰✰✰

By time Maverick heard the snickers, he knew what was up. He turned back to the giggling faces of his students.  
“What?”  
“Your back sir,” piped up one of the students behind barely contained laughter.  
“Oh that asshole,” Maverick said, grabbing the sticky note from off his back.  
It was just an arrow pointing upwards with the word “stupid” written underneath. Maverick internally rolled his eyes.  
_Real creative_ he thought. He crumpled the sticky note and stuffed it in his pocket, plotting his revenge.

✰✰✰

“Hey, Ice.”  
Ice looked up, and upon realizing who it was, smirked.  
“Maverick.”  
If it is possible for someone to sarcastically put their feet on a desk, Iceman did.  
“Do you know what this means?” Maverick asked, gesturing with the sticky note, trying to sound angry while barely containing his grin.  
“Enlighten me.”  
Maverick leaned in close so he was almost looming over ice.  
“This. means. _War,_ Kasansky,” he said, jabbing his finger into ice’s chest, competitive grin on his face.  
Ice raised one perfect blond eyebrow, but said nothing, smiling all the while.

✰✰✰

“Ice, hey, sorry to bother you but—“ Ice looked up from the paperwork he was pouring over only to be greeted by Maverick leaning casually over his desk. “—can I make a call on your phone?”  
Ice seized maverick up suspiciously. Maverick felt a little thrill at the attention. Ice turned to grab the phone from its usual spot and—  
To no one’s surprise, it wasn’t there. Iceman looked back at Mav like he was considering what possible bad deed in a past life had got him stuck with Maverick. Maverick’s smile widened.  
“Where.”  
“Try the top drawer.”  
Cautiously, Ice opened the drawer. He produced the phone from within and placed it on the desktop— only to be greeted with a jiggling, gelatinous green mass, the vague shape of the phone just barely visible through the cloudy surface. Ice stared at it in frustration and slight awe. Ice looked up at Maverick’s cocky grin.  
“Your move, Ice,” Maverick said before walking away. Ice could do nothing but stare after him.

✰✰✰

Mav walked into the classroom to find every student staring at him like they were in on a secret. He paused before sitting down.  
“Is there something on my back?”  
The class shook its head unanimously. Maverick glared at the classroom desk, expecting to see gift wrapped lamps or something of the sort. Nothing. He took a seat.  
Just as quickly, he stood up again. An ear-splitting noise screeched from beneath the seat, sending the class into fits of laughter. Mav crouched down to investigate. Duct taped underneath the office-style chair was an airhorn.  
“Goddammit,” Maverick laughed.  
On the tape written in unmistakeable neat printing, were the words “your move”. Maverick rose to his feet.  
“Did you all know about this?” He asked the class  
The students nodded sheepishly. Maverick chuckled, running his hand through his hair.  
“So not only has he one-upped me, he’s turned the class against me too.”

✰✰✰

The next time Maverick and Iceman saw each other was in the hallway at TOPGUN, each heading in different directions.  
“Wait, Ice,” Maverick said before he could think about what he was stopping him for. Ice turned, a cold smile on his face, as Maverick stepped closer to him.  
“Nice trick you pulled with the airhorn there. I knew chairs were a bad idea.”  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ice retorted, grinning  
“Bullshit you don't know what I’m talking about.” Maverick stepped closer, finding himself fixated momentarily by Ice’s slightly unbuttoned collar.  
Ice didn’t move backwards, just looked down a little. The height difference between the two was glaringly obvious. Ice clapped Maverick on the shoulder, sneering with no malice.  
“Watch your back, Mitchell” Ice said softly, a competitive edge to his voice.  
Mav would rather sell his kidneys on the black market than admit it, but he may have shivered slightly. Mav watched him leave, plotting his next move. 

✰✰✰

Mav’s shit-eating grin was enough to put Ice on edge. He was standing inconspicuously enough, just blocking Ice’s view of his desk.  
“Morning, Iceman.” Maverick chirped  
“Maverick, what have you done to my desk.”  
Maverick simply stepped aside, allowing Ice full view of the offending piece of furniture. Ice did a very nice impersonation of a fish for a moment before masking his surprise with an icy expression.  
“She’s a beauty, ain't she?” Maverick quipped, slinging his arm casually over Iceman’s shoulders.

Every single thing on Iceman’s desk was made out of cardboard. Computer, phone, mouse, even a few cardboard slabs to represent his paperwork. They stood there in silence for a moment. Then Ice began to laugh. And laugh.  
“Mitchell, you’re such a dickhead.” Ice grinned, and Maverick was laughing too.  
“Don’t you know it, Ice,” said Mav, expression full of mirth.  
Maverick’s face was lit up in the sun, and Iceman could have counted every eyelash on Maverick’s face. In that moment, Maverick’s arm around Ice, laughing their asses off at a piece of cardboard, Iceman thought—  
_Oh my god, are we friends?_

✰✰✰

They were, in fact, friends. In between pranks (Iceman had plastic-wrapped everything in Maverick’s office. Maverick had retaliated by flipping everything in Ice’s class upside down) Ice would stop by Maverick’s desk in the mornings before he had to teach. They would trade playful insults for a while, Ice would finish his coffee, then both would continue with their day. They fell into a sort of rhythm, until morning chats turned into lunches together, turned into drinks after work, turned into late-night phone conversations when Maverick forgot normal people were sleeping. Long story short, everything was going wonderfully until they got locked in the supply closet.

Twilight was a sneaky one when she wanted to be. Somehow she had lured them both into the supply closet at the same time (Ice had been told something needed fixing. Maverick had been told two students were skipping class to make out) pushed them both in, locked the door, and giggled maniacally from outside. She was unfazed by Maverick’s threats, claiming she was taking revenge for the collateral damage of their prank war. 

All of this had lead to Ice standing awkwardly while Maverick crouched, desperately trying to unlock the door from the inside. The air felt weirdly charged. Ice felt almost jittery, like he should be doing something.  
“You know who she reminds me of, Mav?”  
“Who?” Maverick grunted  
“You.”  
“Oh come on, I never locked instructors in a supply closet.”  
“You did lock Hollywood and Wolfman in an empty room.”  
“That’s different. I was saving the rest of us from their eye fucking.”  
“And how is this different?”  
Maverick stopped what he was doing to look at Iceman. Not an easy feat in the cramped quarters.  
“Something you want to tell me, Ice?” Maverick said with a sly smile.  
Ice rolled his eyes and turned his head to the side. He covered his falter with a quip.  
“Well, it’s no wonder she’s getting the wrong idea. There’s only so much longing stares you can throw my way before someone notices.”  
“Oh you wish, Kasansky.”  
A mostly good-natured, but tense silence followed.  
“What are you going to do about Twilight?” Ice asked, trying to avoid the silence.  
“Nothing, probably.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. This I pretty funny. Who knows, maybe I see myself in her.”  
“You sound like an old man. She’s hardly younger than you.”  
“Oh, to be young and free-spirited once more…” Maverick continued, Ignoring Iceman’s statement.  
“Are you going to get her back?”  
“Nah.”  
“Good idea. You’re barely keeping up with our little war as it is.”  
“Hey, the cardboard desk was pretty good.”  
“Sure.” Ice shifted to his left. He smirked at the slight agitation he could feel coming from Maverick.  
“I’m not getting back at Twilight because she probably couldn’t handle it. It would mess with her studies or something.”  
“Sure, Mitchell. I think you’re just a coward.”  
“Hey!”  
Ice laughed—A small thing, almost immediately strangled. Maverick grinned to himself.  
“Plus.” Maverick continued, absently scratching at his head, “It would seem too… flirtatious.”  
Ice was silent, contemplating what that meant for their current predicament.  
“Well, Twilight is a fiery one. Maybe you’ve met your match.”  
“Stop. No. That’s gross, she’s my student.  
“That didn’t stop you with Charlie,”  
Maverick paused.  
“Touché.”  
Ice smirked and gave Maverick a condescending look, even though Maverick wasn’t turned around to see him. He centred his weight, propping one hand on his hip. His elbow just touched something plasticky resting on the shelves of the tight space.  
“Imagine, me winning an argument with Maverick Mitchell.”  
“Oh shut your face, asshole,” Maverick said with a grin you could hear, “It was different with Charlie. I was the student. Otherwise it’s… weird.”  
“You’re a changed man. I would never consider you someone of morals,”  
“Oh fuck off Kasansky.”  
Iceman laughed, and Maverick smiled again. He leaned back slightly into Ice’s legs, appreciating the warmth. Another pause.  
“Goddammit, Mav, when are you going to finish with that lock?”  
“Oh, I’ve been done for ages. Just wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out.”  
“You _bastard._ ”  
Maverick cackled. Ice attempted to hit the back of Maverick’s head just as Maverick opened the door and tumbled out, causing Ice to trip over him. In his distracted, laughing state, he would have gone sprawling to the floor if it weren’t for Mav’s quick reflexes. Instead, Maverick managed to catch him, leaving him unbruised. Well, maybe a bruised ego. Maverick being Maverick, had managed to catch Ice less like he was saving him from falling and more like he was dipping him on the dance floor.  
“You better not drop me,” Ice said, with nothing better to break the quiet.  
“What’s the magic word?”  
“Fuck off,”  
Maverick responded by dropping Iceman precariously low.  
“Okay okay! Please.”  
“Say it in a sentence.”  
“You’re an asshole, Mav.”  
“An asshole who’s the only thing between you and the floor. What’s it gonna be?”  
Ice gave a long-suffering sigh.  
“Peter Maverick Mitchell. Will you please return me to my feet.”  
“Well, since you asked so nicely,”  
As soon as Ice was standing, he playfully punched Maverick in the shoulder. “Playfully” meant almost knocking him to the floor. Maverick shoved him back, and they fell in easy time walking down the hallway.  
“Hey, Mav?”  
“yeah?”  
“Aren’t you teaching in about… four minutes?”  
Maverick looked at the clock. Looked at Ice. Looked down the hall.  
"Shit!” He yelled and booked it down the hallway.  
Iceman just watched him go, laughing. 

✰✰✰

For once, it was Iceman’s turn to wake Maverick up at an unreasonable hour.  
“Fuck, Ice, do you know what time it is?”  
“6:15.”  
“God, how are you awake?”  
“Not only awake, but I’m also at Top Gun and ready to start the day.”  
Ice heard a groan from the other end of the line.  
“We need to get you checked out. See a doctor or something.” Maverick yawned, and Ice could picture him with foggy eyes, laying in bed with his hair sticking in all manner of directions. Ice smiled fondly to himself. Just woke up and he was still making wisecracks.  
“Does it make you wish you were a student again? When all you had to do was stumble down a hallway and you’d be ready.” Ice asked  
Maverick was silent, as though it was taking an immense amount of brainpower to contemplate Ice’s mostly-rhetorical questions.  
“Stop making such complicated sentences. Any particular reason you’re calling me at this ungodly hour?”  
“Yeah, actually. You might want to look outside.”  
And then he hung up.  
“That—“ Maverick pulled the phone from his ear and glared at it. “Dickhead.”  
He groaned as he rolled out of bed. By the time he got dressed, brushed his teeth, and scraped together a breakfast (figured since he was up he might as well) it was dawning on 6:45. He grabbed his keys and a pair of aviators from the counter, donned his leather jacket, and headed outside.

He took one look at his motorbike and his jaw nearly hit the floor. His bike was totally, completely covered in Christmas wrapping paper. Bow and everything. Maverick approached the bike carefully as though it were a figment of his exhausted imagination that may turn into a tiger at any minute. Attached to the bow was a tag. Maverick turned it over. In that irritatingly perfect writing were the words “To: Mav, From: Ice. XOXO”. Maverick could feel the sarcasm emanating from the note in waves.  
“xoxo my ass,” Maverick said, before he began ripping the paper from the bike.

✰✰✰

Wordlessly, Maverick slammed pile of crumpled wrapping paper down on Iceman’s desk. Purely out of spite, Maverick had stuffed the entirety of the wrapping paper into a backpack, just so he could dramatically present it to Iceman. Pity to whoever saw him on the way there, revenge in his eyes and wrapping paper on his back. Iceman looked mildly surprised, and something like fond exasperation lingered behind his eyes.  
“All this for me? You shouldn't have.”  
“You’re starting to sound like me.” Maverick said, planting his arms on Iceman’s desk and leaning forward.  
“No need to be rude.” Not breaking eye contact, he reached beside him to grab a pen from the desk.  
“You made me late!”  
Iceman began to twirl the pen between his fingers, regarding Maverick with the look of someone who knows he’s right and intends to be a nuisance about it.  
“You’re always late. That’s why I called you, so you wouldn’t be later than usual.”  
“Oh, well, you’re a real saint.” Maverick said with a roll of his eyes, though he couldn’t dodge the fact that Iceman was right.  
Ice just smirked back. God, that smirk drove Maverick insane. 

He found himself fixated for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to push Ice or kiss him. Maybe he could. Neither of them ever seemed to have much concept of personal space, so their heads were already hovering pretty close. Just a quick lean in. Maverick got sidetracked wondering when the macho tension had blurred into a weird sort of attraction. What would it be like? How would Ice react, would his lips be chapped or smooth. The bastard probably can use up an entire tube of chapstick without losing it.  
Maverick observed all these thoughts in less than a second, with a kind of detached observation. Then everything came rushing in one wave, and Maverick was left spluttering in its wake with only one thought:  
Oh fuck.  
"Enjoy your wrapping paper,” Maverick said. Then he turned and stalked his way to class, cursing himself for his idiotic comeback. 

✰✰✰

Ice watched him go, still flipping the pen from finger to finger. Maverick’s hair was still messed up, from wind or just waking up, Ice didn't know. Ice wondered, for one strange second, what it would be like to run his hand through that hair. He stopped for a moment at that thought, caught between wanting to think about it or put it in the back of his brain forever. It would probably be soft. Maverick seemed like the type to wash his hair way more than a regular person should. Ice shook his head and busied himself with the first task he could think of. 

Everything made sense now, Maverick thought, again with that same detached observation. Why he’d made the sticky note that started it all, keeping them locked in the supply closet way longer than necessary, “bullshit, you can be mine”, the fucking volleyball game. Maverick banged his head against the wall, getting weird looks from people in the hall. He ignored them. Well, there was only one thing to do.

✰✰✰

“Ice, I think it’s time we called a truce.”  
Ice looked up at Maverick, waiting for the punchline.  
“I’m serious.”  
“Worried you can’t top me, Mitchell?”  
_Oh I could top you all right._  
“Sure.” Really, Maverick didn't fully know why he was doing this either. Or at least, wouldn’t allow himself to think about it, “I’m throwing in the towel.”  
Ice raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Then, he leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming.  
“Say uncle.”  
“Come on Ice, we’re not—“  
“Do it.”  
Maverick sighed and rolled his eyes. He placed his hands on the desk so they were eye to eye.  
“Uncle.”  
Ice grinned cockily.  
“I won.”  
“Well, it’s not exactly a win or lose thing, I mean—“  
“I won.”  
Maverick smiled.  
“Okay, fine, you won.”  
“Well, since I won, the least you can do is buy me a drink.”  
“Oh, there’s a prize involved now?”  
“Don’t be cheap.” Ice tilted his head and grinned sideways at Mav.  
Mav made a big show of looking down at the desk and shaking his head.  
“Look. How about you come over later and we can drink cruddy beer and celebrate your victory.”  
Ice eyed him suspiciously  
“Nice try.”  
“What, I’m serious!”  
“No way you’d give in that easily.”  
Maverick planted one hand on the desk and gestured with the other one, as though he was making a bargain.  
“Look Ice. We’re friends right?”  
“Well-“  
“Oh don’t give me that. Anyways, as your _friend_ ,” Mav stressed the word, staring pointedly at Ice, “no longer your rival, you should come over.”  
Ice looked at him with an unreadable expression. Maverick didn’t know why he felt so apprehensive. Then Ice spread his arms with a ‘why not’ expression.  
“Sure.”  
“Wait, really?”  
“Yeah. I’ll be there by 8.”  
Mav wondered where exactly he had lost control of the situation. He nodded.  
“Well, ah, see you then.” He pushed off the desk and moved to walk away. He caught Ice looking at him strangely, an almost affectionate smile on his face.  
“You are so strange.” Said Ice  
Not knowing how to respond, Mav raised his arms like he was under arrest.  
“Guilty as charged.”

✰✰✰

This was a horrible plan. What the hell was he going to wear. Should he clean the house? Maverick glanced around. Pizza boxes, takeout containers, dirty dishes. Too much work. Maybe just some stuff off the floor.

True to his word, Iceman arrived at 8:00 sharp. When Maverick opened the door, Ice was standing awkwardly on the front step, two bottles of something in his hand. He had abandoned his uniform for a pair of dark jeans and a casual button-up shirt, and Maverick thought he might stop breathing. Ice’s aviator glasses were gone, and his eyes were the only thing betraying his discomfort. Maverick pulled his eyes away and kicked his brain into gear.  
“Come on in,” He said, and Iceman did.  
The beer iceman brought was nicer than what Maverick had, and he told Ice so. Ice laughed slightly at that, and Maverick felt like he was winning points in a game only he knew he was playing.  
“You still live like a university student.” Iceman stated  
“Hey, we can’t all be neat freaks like you.”  
“I do the bare minimum, Mitchell. Half-full take out containers? You aren’t fit to be living on your own.”  
“You’re welcome to clean it if it bothers you so much.”  
Ice looked him dead in the eyes. Never one to step down from a challenge, he turned and started putting boxes in the garbage. Man watched him in shocked silence. He could, at the very least, appreciate Ice’s commitment.  
“You should come over more often.”  
“If I can even walk in the door next time.”  
Maverick rolled his eyes, though Ice couldn’t see.  
“Okay, stop that. Sit down.”  
Ice just looked at him over his shoulder.  
“Take a break, Ice,” Maverick said in a much more earnest tone.  
Ice came and joined Maverick. They were sitting on a few pulled up chairs by the counter, since Maverick’s table was too buried under stuff. Ice had his chair pulled as far away from Maverick as he possibly could.  
“Do you think you could be a little further away?” Mav asked.  
Ice playfully rolled his eyes but dragged his chair closer to Maverick with a screech. Maverick, in turn, scooted his a bit closer, almost obnoxiously so. Ice gave him an unimpressed look, but there was something behind him. Apprehension? Anticipation? Maverick grinned. Silence.  
“So, I was thinking about your supposed truce,” Iceman started “and I—“  
Before he could think, Maverick was leaning forward to kiss Ice with an intensity he didn’t know he had. 

Oh god, he was kissing him. He was kissing him and Ice was about as responsive as a statue. Maverick jerked back to asses the damage. Ice’s eyes were closed, lips slightly pursed, and he was utterly not responding.  
“Fuck, Ice I… shit, I’m sorry. I— I’ll leave.” Maverick was already moving, eyes glassy and unfocused, hands shaking slightly as he grabbed his jacket.  
“Maverick.”  
“I know, I know, I’m sorry—“  
“Pete.”  
Maverick turned, expression chagrined.  
“You’re a dumbass.”  
Maverick only had a moment to contemplate those words before Ice was out of his chair and kissing him. Maverick stumbled forward slightly, jacket half on, and ran his hand along the nape of Ice’s neck. Maverick ran his hand through Ice’s hair, taking pleasure in messing up the infuriatingly perfect style. Ice grinned and pulled away. Maverick gave him a pout.  
“This is why I don’t trust you, Mav.”  
Mav placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.  
“hmmm?”  
“it’s never straightforward with you. There’s always some ulterior motive."  
“You seem to be enjoying my ulterior motive right now.” Ice looked at him. In a surprisingly tender gesture, he lifted his hand to run it along Maverick’s cheek.  
“Yeah.” He said simply, and kissed Mav again.

✰✰✰

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow. I am terrified and thrilled to post this. Hello, wonderful world of ao3. Though my instinct is to go through and make a list of everything wrong with this fic so I feel protected from the fear of it being bad, that's not exactly attractive so here's my lovely dumpster fire. I had fun writing it and hope you enjoyed reading it!


End file.
